Moriarty's Island
by Servant of Fire
Summary: Jim steals Sherlock and John from home one night, and press gangs them aboard a ship bound for "Gilligan's Island". Only Gilligan and gang were murdered on said island, 50 years or so ago. Now it's up to Sherlock, with John's help, to solve the murders of the 7 castaways, get them justice, and get home.
1. Chapter 1 Gilligan's Prelude

**Moriarty's Island~**

**Prelude:**

Sherlock howled in irritation, as away on deck Jim went on singing the song he'd only been singing since they'd set sail, adding a few final words:

(To the tune of the Gilligan's Island theme song)

_Just sit right back, and you'll hear a tale, and you'll feel like you're on an acid trip,_

_It started on a London street, whilst our friends did" kip",_

_The first of the mates was a detective,_

_The soldier brave and sure!_

_I stole them away from their beds, and drug them through their door,_

_For an extended ocean tour!_

_We packed 'em in crates with drugs we were gonna sell! The tiny ship was tossed _(by gunfire, alright?)

_If not for some forsight to put them in bullet-proof vests our flatmates would be lost(flat mates would be lost)_

_I'm dropping them off on the shore of this uncharted desert isle, _

_Where Gilligan!- and all his friends, were murdered, like 50 years ago,_

_Here on Moriarty's island!_

A few seconds later, Sherlock and John were sailing through the air, and hitting the white sand of a beach somewhere in the South Pacific, full-force on their faces. Sherlock sat bolt upright, spitting furiously and picked John up and started to dust him off:

"This music really doesn't agree with the situation. We're being abducted and left to die;not going on holiday!" Sherlock cried.

John sneered at him.

"So, you agree?"

"Sherlock..." John reached and took hopeless fistfulls of the sand, "We are being left to die on a DESERTED ISLAND. And all you can think to say is that the choice of MUSIC is off?! OI!"

And so this is how our story begins.


	2. Chapter 2 This Could Be Paradise

**Chapter 1: This Could Be Paradise~**

Sherlock and John, after John had had a fit of rage for long enough to suit him, set forth to discover where they were.

It was a peaceful island, and seemed it would be a very un-eventful place.

But then they came across the four huts. And a rather large dining room table, constructed of bamboo.

And a cocunut- bamboo bicycle electric generator.

And all manner of things, that seemed to be scientifically impossible,that caused Sherlock's jaw to drop, and John stopped short behind him, bumping his nose against his boney shoulder blades, and then stepping out from behind him, lips forming a perfectly circular shape, in suprise.

"I wonder...who lived here?" he thought aloud.

Sherlock saw a harpoon, with dried blood on it, and a huge pile of colorful feathers, together in a pile of money, and clothes.

He knelt, and began to deduce from all he saw.

"There were exactly 7. 3 women, and 4 men. One of the women had to be around Mrs. Hudson's age. This was probably the wife of the millionaire..."

John's jaw dropped, wondering how on earth he could possibly tell all of this from a pile of clothes and feathers.

"That would mean that two of them would ,of course, had to have been the captain and his mate. The mate was likely very young, late teens/ early 20's. And the last...hmmm, judging by the stains of the pant's pockets, from doing many experiments with chemicals drawn from natural substance, must have been a scientist. Judging by his apparent influence over the others- observe their electric generator,plumbing lines, and cocunut- dial radio for examples- was a professor. Now this fabric is old, preserved only by God knows what, the strange influence of this laws-of-physics-defying- island maybe?- so I'd say the murders, which were not done with this harpoon, but we are to be lead to believe they were- had to have happened around 50 years ago. Why I'd say, we are looking at the remnants of the village of the S.S. Minnow castaways from the 60's. My mother used to go on about how tragic it was..."

John was stairing at him. "You really are that good?"

Sherlock acted as though he hadn't heard him, and kept on with his "deductions". "The clothes aren't torn. Also ,they are all piled here in these feathers, and none of it scattered about. No chairs, and the table itself are not upset, that indicates there was no struggle. So, it is safe for me to assume that the murder did not take place here, or with this harpoon. And the blood is the wrong color for human. That clears that up. Shall we have a look at the huts? Seeing as we will probably be here for a long time, we might as well make use of them, and the former tennants are dead, so..."

He stood up, and went inside one, whilst John, stood blinking stupidly. "He really is that good!" he said, to God perhaps, who is the only other intelligent Being that could be listening.

"This is where the captain and his mate lived ,John!" he was smiling. And he disappeared, again inside. John followed him this time.

"Look, two hammocks already rigged. We might as well move in!" Sherlock cried, happily.

"It could have rot by now!" John protested,but Sherlock climbed in the top one with ease, and swung back and forth.

"Again, it looks like this island, is defying the laws of nature..."Sherlock said. And abruptly stopped swinging, and looked over at John with wide, ocean- color eyes. John looked back, horrified.

"We don't even know if we're on earth..."John said hoarsely. "It could be like that American telly program, where at the end they find out they've all been dead or something the whole time, remember we got Chinese take-out that one night after a case, and I made you watch it with me, so you would wind down and go to sleep, and you "deduced" the whole plot within 10 minutes of one episode?"

Sherlock looked up at the cieling, as if trying to recall it.

"Lost?"

"Yes, that was the name of it. Would've thought you would have deleted it by now, though?"

"I'd assumed it was deleted, maybe your memory dredged it out of my "recycle bin" " he shrugged. "So," he folded his fingertips together, like he always did, when he was about to take the cold plunge into his own mind, "We are dead. Fascinating premise...And we've ended up on this island...to solve a murder..."

"Wait, who said we were dead?"

"You did, just now?" Sherlock cocked a brow, and looked at him confused.

"No, I said 'we don't know if we're on earth'..."

Sherlock grunted, and then smirked, as if this was even more intriguing, "So, we've sailed into hell..."

"Oh boy..." John muttered, and stepped outside.


	3. Chapter 3 Emancipation

**Chapter 3: Emancipation~**

John exited the "Skipper and Mate's" small hut, and, having a bit of a mental breakdown, he ran back to the lagoon. Sat there stairing at the horizon, praying, praying somehow he would see a plane, or the outline of a ship, or the familiar whir of a medvac helicopter, and then he remembered he wasn't in Afghanistan.

He was somewhere afloat in the ocean, where even he didn't know.

He was stranded on a desert isle,in the middle of only God knew where, with a 50 year cold-case murder to occupy them, and with Sherlock Holmes it would take, at the most, a week to solve.

And then the madness, the sheer bloody madness of living with SHERLOCK HOLMES on a deserted island, where boredom would take over like a cancer in a manner of days...

John begged the sea to send him anything, heck, even a bloody SWAT team of angry mermaids, to get them off this island.

Suddenly he heard a stirring in the trees about him, and turned to see Sherlock, pealing out of his shirt. Siezing a vine, and swinging through mid air, leaping head-over-heels in a graceful swan dive into the lagoon. He splashed upwards again, beaming, and swimming in circles on his back, like a playful little otter.

John staired, dumbfounded. "What ARE you doing?"

"Enjoying my newly found freedom..."

"What?"

"John, think about it. We are on an island ,the where of, only God knows. We have enough cases , and justice therefore to get,to keep the Work going for many years now(and no I'm not referring only to the murders of the Minnow catsaways, but actually I found the Diary of Ginger Grant, an actress from back in the day, and it sounds as though this island used to be a VERY eventful, for criminal activity anyway, place). We have this eventful island of criminal activity and justice-getting WITHOUT the bloody press! WIthout the meddling of the news reporters, and without the confusion and distraction of the police and curious bystanders...IT'S ABSOLUTE EMANCIPATION! And of course, we have the mystery of trying to solve how to get ourselves off, when the time is right to, but until then consider this a glorious holiday from the dullness that is society..."

And then , singing to the tune of a Bob Marley song called "No Woman, No Cry" Sherlock began to tease John, who wasn't in the mood for it, but started to feel the tortoise -shell despair melting off him, as he did:

_"So Jonny don't cry,So Jonny don't cry,_

_Said I remember when we used to sit, Solving murders for Scotland Yard,in ol'London town,_

_Observing, and deducing the hypocrites,_

_And try to mingle with the people that we met, ugh_

_Good fortunes we have, good fortunes we have now,_

_better long the way, yea,_

_This will be a bright future, with no press,_

_So dry your tears I say!_

_No Jonny, dont cry, No Jonny,dont cry!_

_Hey now John, don't shed no tears,_

_No Jonny don't cry,_

_Said said said I remember when we used to solve,_

_Cases for the government,in London town_

_And then Gavin or what ever his name is-"_

"Greg" John cut in ,thoroughly amused now.

"That's the one ,thank you!" Sherlock added pointing, bright -eyed.

"When have you listened to Bob Marley enough to change the words to his song?" John interrupted. Sherlock paid him no mind though and went on,

_Old Gavin used to light up his cigarette lights,_

_I say I was on fire with those cases on those nights,_

_And you would find brains in the fridge then,_

_I would have shared them with you, had you not been disgusted,_

_And you'd take to your heels, to go get some air,_

_And while you were gone...(_meheheheh)

Then he started swiming around in circles, clapping like an otter:

"_Everything's gonna be alright," _ he repeated over and over somewhat like in the original song, but then he sang:

"_So John don't cry, John little brother, don't shed no tears!"_

John gasped, exapserated, "Oi, I'm older!" he laughed, peeling out of his shirt now, and jumping in too.

When John joined Sherlock in the water, he back-stroked close to him, a brow cocked,

"Besides, with Mycroft keeping tabs on my every movement, I probably have some kind of tracking device in me. Even if it passes through my digestion process, or it dissloves in my blood, he'll still probably find us and drag us home by the ears like it were our fault within the next couple a days, so we have a lot of case work to do, eh?"

John laughed, and started a splash war with him, shouting playfully :

"It might not be our fault, but it's STILL more fun to blame you for it!"


	4. Chapter 4 Defining Hangover

**Chapter 4: Defining "Hangover"**

So Sherlock and John settled in to life on "Moriarty's Island" and began to work on solving the case for the Murder of the Minnow Cast Aways.

Sherlock was calling it a "Study in Robinson Crusoe" or some such as that. And John. Well, John was missing all the lovely ladies he could flirt with back in old , rainy London.

So John, began to flirt with the ever- elusive ghost of the beautiful Ginger Grant( no , he wasn't actually seeing ghosts, but Sherlock had deduced so much about her aloud, that John had a photographic, and maybe slightly air-brushed, mental image of her). And when Ginger was too busy answering Sherlock's questions in the "mind palace", well, then there was always beautiful , sweet Mary Anne, that Sherlock had deduced, and even "spoken" to aloud, and they got on quite well, as she reminded him of an American( ok, and let's keep it real,flat out dead) version of Molly Hooper.

He picked them flowers. And gave them flattering compliments about the many outfits they'd left lying about the island.

And then after a long day of imaginary dates with beautiful mentally- animate dead women, John, finding that he had spent his day in a completely normal fashion, went home to Also -221 B New Baker Street, Moriarty's Island. The old "Gilligan and Skipper" residence, was now being shared, with the imaginarily re-incarnate past-life occupants, and Sherlock and John.

Sherlock,of course, in typical "Sherlockian"( as John had taken to calling it) fashion, had added some homey touches. By this, I mean, that there were limbs of a washed- ashore squid sitting in a bucket of cool, wet mud for expirimentation. And in place of a skull, there was a cocunut wearing Gilligan's hat sitting on an old shelf. To John's great joy ,however,Sherlock now did chemistry and expiriments in the Professor's old hut, which was now being referred to as "Also New Scotland Yard".But, Sherlock had still found a way to throw a packet of old island savage poison darts into the bamboo walls, so that there was a connect -the-dots smiley face in the same locale of the Gilligan-and-Skipper residence wall, as it would have been on "Actually 221 B, Baker Street, London, England"'s wall.

The only additions John had made, was using Gilligan's old lobster trap, and some fishing poles for antena, as a make-believe telly. And he had drug up an old burlap sack from the S.S. Minnow, and filled it with the weirdly-colored feathers,to make up for their actual-setee at actual-Baker Street.

After a long date with Mary Anne, walking the beach on the other side of the island, collecting sea-shells, John plopped down in front of their make-believe telly, pointed a make-believe- cocunut- shell remote control at it, and went to his "mind palace" ,as Sherlock had been teaching him to do, and pretended he was watching actual-telly. He didn't like the imaginary commercials, so he pretend-like changed the channels. He put it on a show that really annoyed Sherlock, one called "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?". But, to John's deep regret, Sherlock could not be annoyed. This episode, was after all, only in his mind.

"Evening, Sherlock, Gilligan."

Sherlock sat at the old table, and across from him, in his mind, sat Gilligan. "John." answered Sherlock.

"Hey, John." said the mind-palace Gilligan, and waved awkwardly, like the real boy would have done.

John could actually see it in his own mind. Sherlock was teaching him fairly well.

"So, are we getting any closer to solving our little problem yet, boys?" John asked, snickering as he saw Sherlock on the show in his mind, and losing to a very know-it-all kid version of Phillip Anderson from the Yard.

"Well, Sherlock's got his Monkey Network looking in to it now. Or they were supposed to be." Gilligan pointed to the roof.

John looked up, "Wait, what?"

There was a group of small capuchin monkeys, sitting in a circle-of-trust in the rafters of their was very much like a Iroquois peace-council ring. Complete with peace-pipe. Or a cigarette they had nicked from Sherlock, and were passing, one to the other in the true fashion of braves of America a long time ago.

"SHERLOCK!"

"I don't know how they're smoking them. They were in the pocket of my blazer when we were on board the ship, and they got all soaked in the uh...voyage."

The leader of the Monkey Network, aka Also-Chief-Superintendant, dropped an empty pack of Pall Mall's down on John's face. He grabbed his nose in irritation.

"Don't be mad ,John, the monkeys smoked them all, so Sherlock never got any." Gilligan smiled, sheepishly.

"Sherlock!" John cried, ignoring mind-palace Gilligan, " I thought we had agreed you had quit!"

Sherlock folded his arms, "Well, it's not like I can anyway, the monkeys are smoking them all, the whole bloody crate I found on Moriarty's sorry- excuse- for- a boat. The only thing's left is the cheap ones."

A pack of Marlboros fell on John's nose. "Which looks like Gertrude just finished off!" Gilligan cried in dismay, as a prissy little monkey put a hand on her hip, and took a long pull off the cigarette, with a flourish like a 20's actress.

"And there was a pack of Virginia Slims, but I heard somewhere those were girly , and I didn't like the way they smelled. And Flora agreed to sweep the caves for evidence if I let her have those, so , see John , I have been forced to quit." Sherlock smiled, innocently, showing all his teeth.

"See, John that was easy. Now we can go back to figuring out how I got killed!" Gilligan laughed.

John folded his arms, and glared at Sherlock. Who threw his hands up in despair, "THEY EVEN NICKED MY BLOODY CIGAR! It was the good German kind, John, and Detective -Inspector-Also Lestrade smoked it all!" he jabbed an accusing finger at a monkey that he and Gilligan had dressed up in a tiny tux, to give him a sort of official- look.

"What a dirty thing to do, taking a man's cigar right out of his hand!" Gilligan gasped,"Almost as dirty as killing a guy for the only reason is he's stuck on a beach and can't get off. Can we start solving the how-we-got-killed thing again?"

John waved him off, "Yes, yes, but after we make sure the head investigator is clean...Sherlock,the boat that took us here was smuggling drugs...What else did you take?"

A monkey fell down on the table, eyes rolling like a Super 8 Ball in his head, and a needle sticking out of his arm.

John's lips formed a small "Oh!" shape, and he made the face John makes before John lashes out on you.

Gilligan headed for the oarnge fabric door, quick and quiet, trying to keep the mind-double of his trademark hat from falling off in his haste.

Sherlock was shaking his head, and waving his hands, "No, really, I only took the cigarettes!"(Which, really, he had. The monkeys played a trick to get him in trouble ,that's what monkeys do, isn't it?)

John was smiling bitterly, and chewing his lip at the same time."JJ-jjj-ohn?" Sherlock was slowing backing away.

John reached, and like a bull fighter, he swept Gilligan's old fishing net off the floor with a flourish, spun Sherlock in a quick cocoon, and hung him, in a swaddling- baby-legs-tangled- and -thumb -forcibly- pressed- to- his- lips, position. He poked an accusing finger into Sherlock's ribs, through the wrappings.

"Rock -a- bye Sherlock, in the rafters..." he began, and then leaned dangerously close. "Whilst you contemplate the true meaning of "hangover", I will send Ruby the Gorilla on an island drugs bust, and then go play poker with Mr. Howell, Skipper, and the Professor, or atleast the mind-palace hologramics of them, and we will blow every last cent of 's money, and put it back in the chest when we are done. And maybe Gilligan and your Monkey Network will gain some ground, whilst you dry out!"

He ruffled Sherlock's raven curls then, and swaggered out of the flat, taking mind -palace Mary Anne and Ginger's arms, one laced through each of his elbows, whilst mind palace Mrs. Howell gave a loud, "Oh,my, Sherlock must be working very hard if he's resorted to such strange methods!"

"WHEN I GET DOWN FROM HERE ,JOHN!" Sherlock tried to shout around his thumb, and tried to think of some kind of revenge, and couldn't find one, same as John would find no drugs because he was CLEAN. So ,instead, he just impatiently swung himself back and forth. humming the "Rock-a-bye-Sherly" song, and running through many scenarios based on the evidence Gilligan and the Monkey Network had already provided. This was ,atleast, a good position to think in.


	5. Chapter 5 Only In Your Mind

**Chapter 5 : Only In Your Mind~**

John had fallen asleep on the table after the "Gamble -Mr. Howell's-Money-Away-And-Put-It-Back-in-the-Box-to-Gamble-Again" party.

Had entirely forgotten about putting Sherlock in the cocoon last night.

Came outside this morning , to find Sherlock standing on the dining table, hands in his hair, spinning, and snapping at mind palace versions of all of the Castaways.

"So was he big,little,short,tall,fat,thin,old,young? Details, I need data. Come, you silly people! You have brains!, USE THEM!"

He stomped the table,simultaneously slapping his hands together, for emphasis.

"*Ehem*..."John said from behind them all,coughing into his fist.

Sherlock at the table looked up, expectantly.

"There's only one problem with demanding new data from them ,Sherlock?"

"The fact that they are all silly-minded, and lack the brain skills to succesfully dredge up the needed information from 50 years or so prior?"

John smiled..."No, the problem is, as impressively intricate as they all appear,they are only illusions YOU fabricated in YOUR mind palace, and so, the information that you need from them you will not get from them because they are only in your mind, and your mind lacks the information."

A sudden shock pulsated through the air, as if a billion tiny ,invisible jelly fish had stung the island ,vindictively so. And if adding emphasis on Sherlock's utter shock, the mind palace residents all disappeared, like pillars of smoke.

Sherlock's eyes were wide. And he stumbled, limbs going at all angles like he could fall in a dramatic swoon over the thought, as frightening to him as "the Excorcist" had been to its audience. He had very accurately deceived himself...

"Alright, alright, hey!" John ran to him, as his hand flew up to his brow in a dramatic pose like an Italian painting from the Romantic period. His eyes rolled in his head, and fluttered, and his shoulders hitched..

"So all of this...down to the monkeys, and the palms, and the sand, and sun, and paradise life is in my head,in my head, in my head!" he chanted...

"No case, no land ahoy, no water, no sand, none of it there, none of it ...real? Which leads me to deduce that perhaps my whole life, is a lie, is a lie, is a lie..."

"SHERLOCK!NOW I DIDN'T SAY THAT!"

John suddenly was on the table, and had taken Sherlock in his arms, just as he was about to fall. And then, to John's horror, Sherlock was clinging to him...and they were..ballroom dancing...

"What...no, uhmm...Why? are we? like this?"

"Not real, no case, no hope,no land ahoy, no boat, sinking,...we are lost...Might as well dance..."

Sherlock squinted up at the sun..."NOWHERE..." he shouted, and scared monkeys and birds alike. And then laid his head on John's shoulder in despair.

A bird flew by and hovered with a beautiful island rose of bloody crimson in her feet. Sherlock took it in his teeth, and nodded in gratitude, unaware that birds aren't supposed to just randomly give you flowers.

With the rose still in his teeth,he laid his head again on John's shoulder, being taller, having to bow down to do so, and the rose was tickling John's ear and nose and making him want to sneeze.

All that day listening to Sherlock chant thus:

"I'm a failure,not real,not real,Monkeys using intravenously, WAS MY IMAGINATION!"

John continued to dance with him, enduring the rose's torment until it wilted away from his nose, and chanted thus himself, as they danced on the table till the sun was going down,

"Off this bloody island...Off, need to, need to get off...And mental note...FYI, John,never suggest that Sherlock's mind palace courtiers are not really there...Never again...never..."


End file.
